Rabsztyn Castle has stood on its limestone rock since the end of the thirteenth century. In 1657, during the Swedish Deluge, it was burned and plundered. It was a war of systematic theft and destruction: libraries and relics were carried off, and everything of any value was looted. Barbarism in its purest form. The castle never regained its former shape, and the destruction went on: the walls were dismantled for building material, and at the turn of the twentieth century the tower fell. The consequences of that war can still be seen in these walls. The castle exists in two orders at once: as a silent ruin and as its reconstruction. New bridge planks, a new gate and new roof tiles stand beside stone that remembers the devastation of war.
The series does not illustrate this story. It begins with the mass of the ruin, its empty windows and broken crowns of wall, and then it leads: across the bridge, to the door. The door is closed. The window grilles, as contemporary as everything that allows the structure to endure, close what time has opened.
The threshold has been rebuilt, but not restored. What is new does not return what was. It stands beside it and sustains its absence. One can reach it. It is not crossed.